


I Remain

by breathelights



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Episode Tag-Visionary, F/M, He's Kind of A Mama's Boy, I Have Taken Artistic Liberties, M/M, Stiles Does Not Know About Paige, Teen Derek, Time Travel, pre-season 3
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-08-18
Updated: 2013-09-29
Packaged: 2017-12-23 21:07:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,595
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/931098
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/breathelights/pseuds/breathelights
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As Stiles stood there, tied to a tree in the middle of the woods and watching a witch dance naked beneath the waxing crescent moon, he took a moment to ponder his life choices. Because seriously: werewolves and then kanimas and now <i>fucking witches</i>.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>He can’t even.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue: Megan's Epic Love Story

**Author's Note:**

> Alright! So this is my first story on this site and the very first one I have ever done for Teen Wolf. 
> 
> And even though this has nothing to do with the story, I totally called Ms. Blake being evil from the beginning. I could tell they were going to pair her with Derek and let's face it: Derek just can't have nice things.
> 
> Anyway, this here is the prologue, which I generally make shorter than the rest of the chapters. Whenever I finally get chapter one up, it will be much longer.
> 
> Onwards to the story!!

 

 

Beacon Hills’ most recent Creature-of-the-Week blew into town during the beginning of summer vacation in the form of a 20-something named Megan. Megan had curly red hair, wide chocolate eyes, and a little Barbie nose dotted with freckles. She was so adorably cute it should have been obvious that she would actually end up being one big bowl of crazy. The first time Stiles had seen her he was at the police station trying to stop his father from eating one of the crème-filled éclairs she’d brought by to thank the local officers for taking care of a county she _hadn’t even lived in yet_.  Nobody was that damn nice without something shady going on upstairs.

No one could really blame the pack for not paying her much attention. They had bigger fish to fry (i.e. the two missing betas and _pack composed entirely of bloodthirsty alphas_ , thanksforsharing _Derek_ ), and all she really did for the first month was skip around town like a Disney Princess, spreading hope and good-will and leaving a trail of restored belief in humanity in her wake.

Then shit hit the fan when one fine evening, Megan suddenly fell psychotically in love with Derek Hale.

Objectively, Stiles was willing to admit (only because he was _so_ confident in his masculinity) that Derek was the kind of person you see on the street and just want to lick pudding off of. But his personality sucked. Like really bad. Like creeping around in the shadowy corners of the local high school and violently slamming people into hard surfaces and just being an all-around raging asshole drowning in mainpain, bad.  Stiles could personally testify that the three meetings Derek had face-to-face with the witch went something along the lines of: “Get out of my way,” “Why do you keep following me around,” and “Who the fuck are you, dammit.”  The fact that Stiles _could_ personally testify to this is also kind of what got him held against his will by Megan to begin with.

Stiles had been the only one he knew with nothing to do during the summer. All of his friends were either working, studiously attempting to not fail summer school, or fleeing to a completely different continent to avoid confrontation and/or the stigma of mysteriously rising from the dead after pretty much the entire town saw you bleed to death in the middle of the lacrosse field. He figured he might as well use his mad skills to help Derek track down Erica and Boyd. Honestly, who was Derek to turn down an ally? The only people he had in his corner at the moment were a rickety pack of two and a seriously wishy-washy vet who spent more time ominously handing out half-assed advice than he did fixing sick pets. Initially, Derek had taken one look at Stiles smiling blindingly outside of his new (crappy) loft and promptly slammed the door in the teen’s face anyway. Stiles was not deterred: he sat out in the hall whining for a full ten minutes before Derek finally snatched him through the threshold.

After that they kind of became _stilesandderek_ …in a necessary, partners in crime way.

Not a statutory-rape way.

The more time he spent scouring the woods and chasing down dead-ends with Derek, the more Stiles began to realize Megan wasn’t as Disney Princess-y as he thought. Whenever he ran into her around town, Stiles found himself on the receiving end of purposeful shoulder bumps and snide comments about his outfit. She never failed to suddenly be sweet and accommodating if Derek happened to stroll around the corner, either. Stiles felt very much like he was in some kind of passive-aggressive chick fight. It wasn’t cool (he was a _man_ , dammit), and he would have rather things _hadn’t_ quickly escalated to him being held captive in the forest, waiting to be ritually sacrificed to the ancient moon gods or something, just because some lady couldn’t handle rejection well. (Thought Stiles is pretty sure he wouldn’t be used to rejection either if he had dimples like hers.) Stiles glared as she twirled around the clearing, arching gracefully in the moonlight and landing lightly on her feet. That bitch. He didn’t know who the hell she was trying to impress. Seriously, natural curls his _ass_. More like shitty at home perm.

Her words gained edge the longer she spoke, and was she seriously getting angry right now? Yeah, like _she_ was the one who was stolen in the night and led to his doom. At this point Stiles is pretty sure that Derek should just date men: all the women he attracts are fucking whack-jobs.

As if summoned by thought alone, Derek’s very distinctive _‘I-Am-Alpha-Hear-Me-Roar-‘_ howl tore through the still night sky. Even in the failing light Stiles could see a look of complete and utter _‘oh shit’_ on Megan’s face. She began to chant faster. He grinned maliciously.  Little Ms. Fail!Witch obviously hadn’t taken into account that Derek would rather gnaw off his own leg than lose someone else he considered to be under his protection. So boo, the joke was on her for her terrible plan; that whore. (Stiles isn’t sure when he became Regina George.)

“Did you hear that,” he sang, “it’s the sound of your _throat ripping_.” Megan ignored him. It was obvious that she was trying to focus all of her attention on finishing the spell before everything went to hell. Stiles was nothing if not persistent. And chatty.

“Coz me and Derek? We share a special bond. It’s like on the first day of Kindergarten when everyone wants to borrow your cerulean Crayola since it’s pretty much the prettiest crayon to ever be made but you’re just like ‘Fuck no’ coz like, it’s _cerulean_ , but then out of nowhere this one kid comes up to you and you’re just like ‘…this is a cool dude.’ So you let him use it even though every bone in your greedy little munchkin body is screaming MINEEEEEE, and you just kind of end up being best friends forever.” She twitched, but otherwise remained vigilant.

“Of course, I didn’t actually _know_ Derek in Kindergarten. He’s like six years older than me, so it would be kind of bad if I did. He would have had to flunk Kindergarten _six_ times. I mean, I can kind of see being held back once if you just don’t learn as fast as the other kids, but _six times_? What the hell is going on in that classroom that causes you to fail six times? It’s like ooooh, little Timmy coloured his horse green. Obviously he does not have a thorough grasp of the light spectrum in relation to the members of the animal kingdom. He is not ready for the tribulations of 1 st grade English and mathematics!” By now Megan’s face was violently spasming.

“But honestly, I wouldn’t care if Derek failed Kindergarten ten times. I mean, yeah I would probably silently judge him but I wouldn’t say anything to his _face_. He’s a chill dude. When he’s not aggressively throwing me into things, that is. I think it’s all just pent up sexual frustration, to be honest. He totally wants to bone my jailbait ass. I can tell. He’s just worried about being arrested…again. I mean, everybody knows what happens to child molesters in prison. You know, because of Law and Order: SVU? Speaking of SVU, can you believe Christopher Meloni left the show because of _money_ —“

“Oh my God, _shut-up_!” Megan snapped, throwing her arms up in the air in the universal sign of ‘I can’t even believe this shit right now.’

“What the _hell_ is wrong with you? Do you have some kind of neurosis? Are you _sick_? Who would _willingly_ want to spend time with you? Jesus!” She huffed angrily, stomping her bare foot in the dirt.

“And _now_ I have to start the whole damn spell over, because you interrupted the fucking flow. _The flow_. I can’t even!” Megan opened her mouth, presumably to begin her incantation again, when an angry roar sounded from the trees a view yards away. She cursed.

“Great, _just what I need_.” She sneered.

“I’m finishing this spell, whether it’s done correctly or not!”

The last string of archaic Latin dripped from her mouth like poison just as Derek came charging out of the bushes, red eyes burning. Stiles could feel his own growing heavy. His body felt weightless, almost as if there wasn’t anything keeping him grounded. For a split second, he almost believed he was just going to float up into space…and then suffocate...and maybe throw up a little.

The last thing he saw was Megan’s venomous gaze—

(“Whatever happens is on you,” she hissed.)

—then everything bled black.

 


	2. I'm the Alpha

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles meets an old friend...ish.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this chapter took longer than I expected,because my sociology teacher is a moron. Seriously, you don't even know.
> 
> But yeah, this chapter has some necessary feels. It had to be done for the story to be even semi believable, what with all the characters on the show having sucky backgrounds and all that.
> 
> Hopefully it was worth the wait!

 

 

Stiles was not alone. Maybe if he just lay there silently whoever was with him would think he was dead and leave. (In his defense, most of the people of Beacon Hills tended to be on the wrong side of smart: probably because everyone was so damn pretty.) Unfortunately for Stiles, the person hovering over him could immediately tell that he was faking and promptly smacked him across the face. He flailed into an upright position, sputtering indignantly.

“Seriously, you find a person with potentially fatal injuries just laying around in the woods and the first thing you do is _slap_ them? Were you raised by wolves?”

The boy before him was a couple of years younger than Stiles. His dark hair had the kind of carelessness that took hours of dedication to perfect, and he was lean in a way that suggested fast-paced sports. He sat frozen like a deer caught in headlights, wide hazel-green eyes staring down at Stiles as if Stiles had just admitted to eating kittens for breakfast and being the Anti-Christ and watching _Here Comes Honey Boo_ for its wholesome family values. Something about him tugged at the back of Stiles’ mind, but he honestly couldn’t figure out what it could possibly be.

“..Did you say _wolves_?” the random guy asked after an awkward silence so long Stiles had almost passed out from the effort it took not to speak.

“There are no wolves in California. There haven’t been for years. And you do know that _The Jungle Book_ is make-believe right? Humans, _like me_ , can’t really spend their lives rolling around in the wilderness with wolves. We have needs.” He was trying to go for nonchalant, but his gaze was a lot more panicky than one would expect from someone who was casually taking in their surroundings.

“Dude,” Stiles raised an eyebrow, “you’re totally a werewolf aren’t you?”

“Werewolf,” the younger boy squeaked, shaking his head violently (because desperate denial was _so_ convincing), “I’m not a werewolf. I don’t even know what that means. Is it some kind of club?”

“Oh my God, you are so bad at his.” Stiles snorted. Mr. Stranger opened his mouth, probably planning on the ‘deny, deny, _deny_ ’ approach, but Stiles held up a hand to stop him.

“Hey, no worries man. You’re an omega right? I’ll put in a good word for you to the alpha ‘round these parts. He may seem scary, but he’s really just a big softie.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” the rogue wolf had obviously decided to drop the act, if his burning yellow eyes were anything to go by.

“My mom is the alpha, so if anyone is going to be needing a reference it’s you.” He crossed his arms.

“Shouldn’t _you_ of all people know that anyway?”

Stiles had stopped listening by that point, scratching his head thoughtfully. It actually made sense to assume he had woken up in a foreign territory. He was pretty sure that Megan intended to get rid of him, because in her mind he was the only thing in the way of her epic love story. (Not taking into account the fact that Derek was probably the only one in town who didn’t give a damn about her homemade goods and probably still thought her name was Mildred.) The spell most likely hadn’t worked as planned, but it had to have done something. He had felt the magic coursing through him right before he blacked out. It settled in his bones and made them lighter than air.

“Give it to me straight, Doc,” he said finally, leaning back on his elbows to stare woefully at the boy squatting over him, “how far away am I from Beacon Hills? Or have you never even heard of it because I’m in North Carolina or some shit right now?”

The younger boy was on Stiles in an instant. He crowded the human back into the ground until their noses were touching and snarled. He tilted his head so that his elongated fangs could glint dangerously in the sun, and Stiles would have laughed at the dramatics of it all if he weren’t currently worrying about the state of his throat.

“I don’t know who you are,” the werewolf hissed, “or what fucking game you’re playing, but I suggest you quit while you’re ahead and stop stalking me.” Stiles gaped at him.

“What do you mean _stalking_? I haven’t seen you before in my life!”

“Oh yeah,” Stranger-Danger growled, “then why do you smell like you’ve been rolling around in my bed-sheets when _I_ haven’t seen _you_ before?” Stiles pushed at the younger boy’s chest, scowling when he only put a minimal amount of distance between them.

“Let’s get one thing straight: you’re not going to bully me just because you’re a werewolf and I’m human.” Stiles poked him directly in the sternum.

“And your sniffer is obviously malfunctioning, because the only person I’ve really been around lately other than my dad is Derek, who is the alpha that’s going to kick your ass by the way, so I’d really take a moment to write my last Will and Testament if I were you.” the boy snorted.

“You aren’t very smart are you? What kind of idiot names their _imaginary_ alpha after the person they’re stalking in an attempt to convince said person that they aren’t stalking them?”

Stiles froze, momentarily stunned by the familiarity of the superior ‘You-Are-A-Waste-Of-Space-So-Just-Stop-Breathing-Already’ expression glaring balefully down at him. The feeling from before returned. It swelled inside his brain until there was nothing left but wrongness. Wrongness about how normal the other boy’s scowl was.

“What…what are you saying?” the young wolf leaned back, gaze searching.

“I’m sure we both know my name is Derek.”

“So I’m guessing that means we are in Beacon Hills after all, huh?”

“Are you high?”

“Well that just depends,” Stiles choked, “what’s the date?”

 

 

 

Stiles spent a solid five minutes blatantly staring at the boy sitting cross-legged in front of him (the boy he could now identify as _15-year-old Derek Hale_ ), before finally just blurting out: “I’m from the future!”

Derek blinked warily at him, like he was stuck somewhere between laughing it off awkwardly and casually running for his fucking life.

“…You’re crazy.” He said slowly.

“Oh my God, you’re crazy. I found a _crazy_ person in the woods. Where the fuck is my mom?” Stiles was so going to give him hell for that once Stiles was back in the future where he belonged and his brain was no longer short circuiting. Right now he needed someone on his side to help him figure things out. Picking on a teenager about being a mama’s boy wasn’t the fastest way to gain his trust…even if it was funny.

“It’s true! I’m from Beacon Hills seven years into the future and you’re the alpha even though you kind of suck at it. Like, you’ve never had a single good idea as long as I’ve known you. About anything. But anyway, I was helping you track down two of your missing betas and this witch came and like, started stalking you and she hated me coz she thought we were dating and she wanted you for herself so she tied me up in the woods and was doing this spell but I made her mess up and she couldn’t start over coz you…or well 23-year-old you, was two seconds from saving me so she just finished the spell and I ended up here instead of wherever I was supposed to be. Where’s Deaton? You should take me to Deaton’s.”

“So in the future…I’m the alpha?”

Stiles should have been expecting that. He really should have.

“Dude, was that _really_ the only thing that stood out to you? And besides, I thought I was crazy!”

“Well I can hear your heart, so I know you’re not lying.”

“You could hear my heart before!”

“Yes,” Derek smiled smugly and crossed his arms, “but that was before I found out I was your alpha. I wouldn’t let a psycho in my pack.” Stiles scowled.

“Sorry to burst your bubble, pal, but you weren’t even my alpha in the _future_ , and you’re sure as hell aren’t now. Also, I’m pretty sure you’d waive the psycho rule under extenuating circumstances.” He didn’t say the last part out loud. Derek just rolled his eyes.

“You barely smell like anyone other than me and the man I am assuming is your dad, you were helping me find my missing betas, and we were apparently so close that some creepy fan-girl thought we were dating. You’re in my pack. Ergo, I am your alpha.” No wonder Derek always called him out in being a little shit. It must have reminded him of his younger years.

“Wait,” Derek shook his head, “what about Laura? She was always supposed to be the alpha, not me. And the rest of my family, where are they? You didn’t mention any of them.”

Stiles felt his heart falter as the gravity of the situation finally set in. He was back in the past. With a 15-year-old Derek: a Derek who still had his _family_. This Derek may be an ass, but he was happy, _normal_. Stiles could save them all, couldn’t he? It would only take a few words, one sentence, to keep Derek from coming within 20 feet of Kate Argent when she finally sauntered into town. He loved his family more than anything, even his dick.

And his mom: God, his mom. He could finally see her again. He should only be about nine right now. He wouldn’t send her out to get that fucking pint of ice cream from the convenience store at four in the morning for at least another year. He could finally apologize. He could stop it. All of it.

Something most have shown on Stiles’ face, because Derek rose quietly and offered a hand.

“I’ll take you to Deaton’s.”

Yeah, they should do that before Stiles changed something he shouldn’t and ruined the already shitty future he did have.

 

 

The trek to the veterinary clinic was a long one. They had no other choice but to walk after Stiles finally convinced Derek that telling his parents probably wasn’t the best idea.  Time was a delicate thing. The less people he interacted with the better.

Derek had apparently been the only one home anyway. Everyone else was either at work or school. He had faked sick to avoid a math test he hadn’t studied for. (“The key to lying in a family of werewolves is to not say anything while doing it.”) Stiles found himself even more grateful that Derek was a regular teenager who skipped school in this time period. He’s pretty sure that everything would have went to hell if all the Hales were there to find him passed out in the woods and smelling of magic and their alpha’s kid.

…Hell…Hales. Ha.

Derek was practically vibrating with the effort of keeping his questions to himself. His green eyes would dart over to Stiles every few seconds and eventually he’d open his mouth to speak, only to snap it shut and stare resolutely ahead…for all of about 2 minutes. Then it was back to staring. Stiles could understand where the younger boy was coming from. His grim silence had left little doubt of what the future looked like for the Hale pack, and if it was him he’d want to know what happened to his family too. (Also, Stiles was trying really hard not to blurt everything out, so he knew the struggle of staying quiet. It was real.)

Stiles was glad for Derek’s grudging understanding, because he would totally spill the beans if the werewolf let out a single syllable that even remotely resembled ‘what’ or ‘happened’ or _‘family.’_ He already felt like he should be in the lowest pit of Hell, chilling with Satan and whoever the fuck the Zodiac Killer was and that one asshole who pitched the idea for _Jersey Shore_ , for not doing anything to save all the people he knew would be dead in a year or so. Even his own mom. God, what kind of person just sat back and let their _mom_ get shot in the fucking face during a robbery gone wrong? He was going to be sick.

 Damn _Doctor Who_ for teaching him the delicateness of time travel.

Stiles was almost in tears by the time they finally reached the clinic. Derek was still walking rigidly with his shoulders back and chin up, but Stiles was pretty sure he heard a sniffle or two on the way up here. Derek was just a big faker. (Stiles was too tired to call him out on it because dammit, lacrosse did not prepare him to walk several miles in the blistering heat while trying to match pace with an agitated teenaged werewolf. Also, anything that came out of his mouth was likely to be sobs, so.) The sign out front clearly said ‘Closed,’ but , Stiles plowed through anyway. Or at least he tried to. They were locked, so he just kind of ran into the glass. Derek rolled his eyes and knocked like civilized people do. Stiles felt like he should reevaluate his life choices if a guy two-years younger than him who was literally raised by wolves out in the woods had better manners.

Dr. Deaton appeared a few minutes later, frowning deeply in bloody scrubs until he realized one of the disheveled teenagers outside his door was the son of the local alpha. Peeling the soiled gloves from his hands, he unlocked the doors and ushered them inside.

“Hurry, I just closed up Mrs. Anderson’s Pomeranian and it’s still lying on the operating table.”

They followed the vet into the back room, and considering recent events, Stiles couldn’t help but remember the time he almost sawed off one of Derek’s arms. Deaton left them hovering awkwardly at the entrance as he wandered off to find a new pair of gloves.

Stiles still wasn’t sure what he planned to tell the vet. He knew he had already messed something up by just existing in the past. Revealing too much could be catastrophic. Not to mention the fact that no matter how helpful Deaton had been in the future, Stiles had always found the man to be a _tad_ bit shady as fuck. It always felt like there was something unspoken but important hanging in the air whenever Deaton had given them advice. He was hiding something big, and Stiles didn’t like it.

Stiles also doubted that anything he could say would get Derek to leave the room. Somehow Derek had gotten it in his head that he was Stiles’ alpha, so Stiles was therefore his responsibility. And of course, the younger teen probably figured they would talk about what was going to happen to his family as soon as he left and didn’t intend to miss said conversation. Stiles sure as hell wouldn’t let anyone discuss the fate of his dad without him.

Stiles didn’t have it in him to tell this Derek what happens to the Hales. This Derek was innocent, and happy. He still had another blissful year to enjoy his pack for all it was worth. Stiles refused to take that away. He couldn’t live with killing the Hales, his mom, _and_ Derek’s precious last months as a normal teenager. He wasn’t a monster: he wasn’t _Kate_. (He figured if he told himself that enough times then he would believe it eventually.) He continued weighing his options until Deaton had put the mangled, half-shaved rat that was apparently a dog back in its cage. When the vet finally crossed his arms and turned to Stiles, the outlier in this situation, the teenager knew he was officially out of time.

“I’m Stiles,” he began slowly.

“I told Derek to bring me here, because I figured if anyone would believe me and possibly know a way to help, it would be you.”

Deaton raised an eyebrow, unimpressed.

“Is that so?” Stiles nodded even though he was pretty sure Deaton was just being an ass.

“I’m from the future. Like, the _legit_ future. And no,” he grinned cheekily, “before you ask we do _not_ drive hover cars.”

The other two occupants rolled their eyes.

“But seriously though, some witch botched up a spell and now I’m here, and I really need to get back before I end up causing World War III or something. I’m just accident prone enough to do it too: ask anyone.” Deaton just stared, before calmly announcing that there was nothing he could do.

“You said you’re here because a witch messed up a spell, correct?” He replied when Stiles began squawking and flailing his arms around.

“Yeah, so!”

“When a magic user incorrectly casts an incantation, there is no predicting what will happen. Sometimes the spell doesn’t work at all, other time it may do something completely different than what was intended, or anything in between. Either way, an incorrectly performed spell cannot be undone, since it is essentially an entirely new incantation that does not exist. One cannot cast a counter-spell for a spell that does not exist, because there isn’t one, due to the fact that—“

“The spell does not exist?” Derek finished helpfully. Stiles glared at him. He shrugged.

“Exactly.” Deaton concluded.

“As far as I am aware, you are stuck in this time period permanently. Unless of course you are willing to risk ripping a hole in the fabric of the universe trying to come up with a way to undo something that technically couldn’t happen because—“

“The fucking spell does not exist; _I get it_.” Deaton frowned, silently judging his lack of manners, but Stiles couldn’t give a rat’s ass about politeness at this point.

He had basically been told he was going to have to watch himself kill his mother all over again, and smell the smoke from the Hale fire from across town and understand what it actually meant. He would know he could have stopped it all.

“Can I at least interact with the people I know other than Derek? I know I can’t change anything, but I want to see my mom alive again, just once.” Deaton regarded him solemnly, as if he were about to ask a question he already knew the answer to.

“Stiles would not happen to be short for Stilinski, would it?”

“You’re about to give me bad news aren’t you?” he laughed bitterly.

“What am I saying: of course you are. When have you ever given _anyone_ other than Scott good news?” the confusion on Deaton’s face when he mentioned Scott made Stiles want to punch something even more.

 The veterinarian eyed Stiles warily before speaking.

“In this timeline, Deputy Stilinski and his wife never had children.”

“But that’s a good thing, right?” Stiles replied, perking up almost immediately.

“My mom’s death was my fault. So if I never existed, then she couldn’t have died!” Deaton stared at him. The expression of regret on his face filled Stiles’ veins with ice.

“Stiles…your mother is dead. She passed away two years ago.” The teen reared back as if he’d been slapped.

“No,” the teen shook his head, “nonono _no_! You’re wrong! How can she still be dead if I don’t even exist? It doesn’t make sense!”

“Some believe that there are an infinite number of universes, because there are infinite amounts of ways our choices can affect our future, but some things are simply meant to happen one way or another; others are completely left to chance. Spells dealing with time-travel, even accidental ones, automatically make sure that any destined event the traveler could possibly change is taken care of before they arrive. It is the only way you can even exist in this timeline without destroying the concept of time itself. It is also why the original you ceased to exist as soon as you appeared.”

“So basically, my mom was meant to die before she turned 35, and what happened to the Hale’s was just shitty fucking luck.”

Knowing this made Stiles hate Kate even more. The Hale pack could have lived happy, fulfilling lives. Beacon Hills could have been safe. Derek could have grown up _normal_. But no. That crazy bitch had to come ruin everything. She indirectly caused pretty much every supernatural problem in the whole town with her damn psychosis. If she ever set foot in Beacon Hills again, he might honestly rip her throat out. (Not with his teeth, but still.)

Stiles had almost forgotten Derek was even there until the young werewolf visibly flinched at the mention of his family. The look on his face was so similar to the one 23 year-old Derek wore, lost and sad, that Stiles just couldn’t take it. He turned on his heel and walked out.

He had nowhere to go. He didn’t exist, so no one would remember him. He had no car and no cash. He wasn’t even sure if anything was the same. Seven years might not seem that long, but he had a very low opinion of time at the moment. So he just sat on the curb in front of the clinic, trying not to think about how horribly uncool his dramatic exit suddenly was on top of all the actually important shit he had to deal with. Derek came and settled next to him a few minutes later. The younger boy stared out across the empty road, memories Stiles couldn’t see flashing before his eyes.

“The second smell on you, the one that belonged to your dad, smelled really familiar when I first met you. It’s because your dad is best friends with my mom.” He hesitated.

“I can tell you how she died in this universe, if you want.” Stiles didn’t want to know. Like, at all. One memory of his mom’s death was enough, thank you.

“…She deserves it.” He said finally. Derek shifted uncomfortably. He probably looked forward to telling this story almost as much as Stiles wanted to hear it,

“It was around Christmas time. Your dad had been complaining to my mom about how much crime rates rose during the holiday season like he usually did. He would always say that anyone with a heart wouldn’t do bad shit right before Christmas. Then mom would smack him on the back of the head for cursing in front of Laura, Cora, and me.” Derek’s smile dripped melancholy.

“Everyone knew how much your dad loved Christmas lights. It was kind of tradition for everyone else to ride by the Stilinski house during Christmas to see what wild light show your dad had come up with this time. He’d been pulling so many doubles and triples he didn’t have time to put anything up before Christmas that year. Aunt Claudia wanted to surprise him by decorating the house herself and then lighting it up when he finally came home. It had snowed all night before. The roof was slippery. She fell.”

A heavy silence fell over them until Stiles’ heavy sigh broke it.

“And let me guess,” he replied blandly, “my dad thought it was all his fault and spent Christmas getting drunk off his ass.”

Derek shrugged weakly.

“Your family died,” Stiles offered, mostly from obligation, “everyone but you, Cora, Laura, and Peter. I won’t tell you how though. It’s unnecessary, since I’m going to save them anyway.”

“Of all the fucking people, _Peter_ had to survive?” despite himself, Stiles actually threw back his head and laughed.

“Tell me about it, dude.”

“You don’t have to tell me what happened,” Derek said suddenly, smothering Stiles’ laughter in an instant.

“I know it had to be my fault, or you wouldn’t be so stuck on keeping it a secret. It was my fault just like your mom was my fault.” Stiles could only gape at him.

“What the hell are you talking about?” Derek stared up at him, eyes wide and filled with angst-y, misplaced guilt.

“If I had come fast enough in the future—“

“My mom is already dead in the future.”

“But she didn’t die _that_ way. And Uncle John isn’t a lonely drunk who hates Christmas and his job.”

Stiles huffed in disbelief.

“Even in this timeline you’re a fucking martyr. You _do_ know that the children in Africa aren’t starving because of you, right? How many times do I have to tell you to stop finding ways to blame yourself for everyone else’s problems?” Derek’s smile was small but genuine.

“I do what I want; I’m the alpha.”


End file.
